


Six Cups of Tea

by Too_Many_Usernames



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Iroh (Avatar) loves Tea, Iroh goes on a lifechanging field trip, Iroh meets the dragons, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Suicidal Thoughts, These kids have problems, Zuko's crew - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Too_Many_Usernames/pseuds/Too_Many_Usernames
Summary: Five times Iroh makes someone tea, and One time someone makes Iroh tea.OrIroh get de-radicalised, tries to de-radicalise some kids, or at least offer them some therapy. It's not always successful.
Relationships: Azula & Iroh (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Iroh
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	1. Ran And Shaw

When Iroh was a young man, all that dominated his thoughts was how to continue the legacy of his father and his grandfather – how he would spread the glory of the fire nation, establish his own legacy, to crush the enemies of his nation under his boot. To young Iroh, killing a dragon would be the peak of this personal glory. To become a dragon, fire bending incarnate.

As he aged and grew to appreciate the beauty of the world, the idea lost its appeal. There were very few dragons left, it seemed a shame to wipe out a species for his own desires.

When Lu Ten died the idea of wanton destruction for the sake of destruction sickened him.

In the wake of his son’s death, he struggled to care that Ozai had stolen his throne, that his father was suddenly dead. It had been so important once, _so_ important until what mattered most was taken from him and all his political, military ambitions crumble and all he can think of his son, that he failed.

He had searched for his son in the spirit world for what had felt like years.

He does not find him.

It takes him a while to revoke his selfishness; that the trauma of his death and the grief of his father had not kept Lu Ten bound to the world. He never found his son. What he had found gave him the motivation to exist again.

He finds the truth.

A truth that shattered the already crumbling layers of imperial propaganda, realising what his pursuit of constant pursuit of conquest and domination meant, what it cost. He thinks of his hypocrisy in delighting in meetings of the White Lotus, simple days playing Pai Sho with people of enemy nations, discussing art and music as he orders the destruction of their studios. He appreciated the four elements, learns from waterbenders and earthbenders as their people warred outside the walls of closed salons and parlours.

He realises his complacency, questions by his orders and his violence how many people he’d killed – how many children he’d taken from their parents, how many fathers had felt the same way as him never even recovering the bodies of their children, buried in the ruins of so many cities like Ba Sing Se.

He cannot exist as he once did, and for a time he thinks he ought to dispense justice for his crimes. It would be the honourable thing to do. But he can do nothing dead.

He starts to dream of dragons; dreams of an island forgotten by the rest of the world; or unfamiliar architecture, of ancient flames. He dreams of long, slender powerful creatures twisting in the sky, dancing around each other.

The island calls to him. Pulled by something he cannot place but he has learned to follow the whispers; the draw of the translucent serpents dancing out of the corner of his eyes.

Iroh slips from the last of his envoy; announcing he will hunt dragons, spews some false wisdom about regaining his honour and his standing for his failure at Ba Sing Se, and that he must do this alone.

He lets the dreams take him; trusting that the spirits will take him where he needs to be, show him what he needs to see. He closes his eyes and traverses the spirit world, following the pull as he flits briefly in and out of consciousness, finding himself on familiar black beaches, amongst familiar people dressed in red before

When he wakes, suddenly and totally it is to immense sound, to a steady, humming flame in his hands that feels different from anything he has summoned from his own inner flame. He stands on a platform, starring into the rising sun, a wall of drumming behind him, his heart pounding in time to the beat. He glances down at the flame in his hands that feels ancient and potent yet.. gentle. He is snapped from his trance by a call behind him in an unfamiliar accent.

‘’Iroh, son of Azulon, son of Sozin! The Masters have summoned you! They will judge your worth!’’ Iroh glances behind him, cradling the thrumming heartbeat of a flame in his hands to see a group of people prostrate in supplication, circles of flame raised above their heads. He turns back to the mouths of the caves, dread pooling in his stomach he barely has a moment to think before a roar and a sudden swell of wind tears through him.

A great red, whiskered head with a mouth full of terrible fangs appears in front of him, eyes glowing, Iroh flinches as the beast surges toward him, another roar drawing his attention from the other side he sees a matching blue drake surge toward him. The great beasts lift from the ground, wings drawing them into the sky they intertwine around the platform, wind picking up, pulling Iroh’s hair and robes and the despair in him… lifts. He knows these creatures, knows this dance. As the dance ceases the beasts – _the dragons_ settle their heads at either end of the platform, watching him intently.

_What now?_

Iroh has one impulse, and while it is, frankly, ridiculous, he can think of nothing else. He raises the palm of flame in his hands, lifting it to the dragons as he slips his pack off his back, trembling hands withdrawing the teapot and stand he slips a small silk pouch of Oolong into the water, returning the flame to beneath the teapot. With a slight tremor to his hand he maintains a steady heat counting slowly in his head he pours two cups – and doesn’t it seem so unworthy to present two dragons a pair of chipped clay travelling mugs?

He notes the blue dragon sniff the cup a little, as the red one advances till he is inches away from Iroh’s face. He struggles not to recoil, not to reach for his inner flame and attack. The Dragon rears, lifting a claw and pressing it into Iroh’s forehead.

Iroh feels a rush of spiritual energy burst through him, he sees images in rapid succession.

A boy, standing in a familiar dark hallway, hunched in on himself. His heart jumps and he reaches forward for his son before the boy turns, Zuko’s golden eyes are staring up into his, nervous and hopeful.

The image dissolves and he sees a flash of green, crystal surrounding him, soldiers in black and green encroaching as he defends something- something important. It crumbles again, and another vision takes its place.

This one is familiar, that driving vision he had when he was young; he leads a group of soldiers into the streets of Ba Sing Se, the sky cast in a burning red. The vision shifts to a new angle, and flame shoots out of his hands, encompassing a huge fire nation banner to reveal a great earth kingdom flag. The vision clears and Iroh finds himself back in his body, face to face with two great dragons.

Iroh blinks, trying to make sense of the visions gifted to him, deep reverberating voices ringing in his head.

_You have chosen humility over pride, son of Azulon. But you cannot lay down your flames yet, there is much left to do._

The dragons shift again, chasing each other into the sky in their swirling formations before bearing down on him, wreathing him in a rainbow of flames.

Iroh exhales, and understands.

He needs to go home.


	2. Zuko

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Iroh, on the deck of their ship.

Iroh smiles, hands curled around a warm cup of Jasmine as he watches his nephew spar on the sun-warmed deck of the _Wani_.

If he’s honest and avoids the pit in his stomach he gets when he remembers how they got here, he is enjoying their banishment. It’s easy to pretend to be the broken Dragon of the West, wings clipped, growing fat in his retirement, distracted by tea and proverbs.

Because being at court was _exhausting._ Playing those stupid games he had once thrived on. His brother – suddenly so bold with the crown in his hair, had little time for him. But Iroh hardly expected his brother would murder their father and steal his throne then take Iroh’s advice. Prince Iroh held no influence over his little brother anymore. He failed at taming that violent ambition as he once did in their youth; the Firelord was beyond Iroh’s reach, but he would not abandon his nation. All he could do was restrain some of Ozai’s most violent advisors, gently redirecting crueller plans to avoid offending their Lord.

Iroh’s efforts were not constrained to the palace, of course. He took extended ‘holidays’, strengthening the ties between the White Lotus; evolving from Old men drinking tea and sharing wisdom to a network of safety and influence. They grew, slow but substantial, from the Si-Wong desert to the Northern Water Tribe to Omashu to within the fire nation itself; Rebels and outcasts like Piandao. They made him Grand Lotus. Iroh does not know what moment he waits for; knows many expect him to overthrow his brother, become Fire-Lord, but they don’t understand he is not suitable – not anymore, perhaps not ever.

‘’Prince Zuko! Widen your stance!’’ He calls, noting as his nephew teeters away from a high kick. Zuko glances back at him and scowls, but follows his direction, dropping closer to the ground as he moves forward to meet his sparring partners. Iroh can never be firelord, but perhaps, with some nurturing, seeing the world beyond the palace walls… Iroh raised a crown prince before, he hopes he can do it again.

When Iroh fell, broken by his son’s death two things sustained him. The first was the truth, the second Zuko. When he’d returned, the starry-eyed passionate boy he left had been… quieter. Ursa was gone, her name removed from documents and conversation, as though she had never existed. With her gone, there was no one for Zuko to hide behind, no one to protect him. He notices unexplained burns, bruises unnecessary for basic training. Noticed the way Zuko goes quieter when his father entered the room, or flinches when he is touched.

He wishes he noticed sooner.

Iroh looks at his traumatised, terrified and furious nephew so desperate to complete this impossible mission and hopes only to be able to soothe some of it. He wants to share what he knows about the way of things, the way of his father. But Zuko’s world has been inverted already Iroh cannot bring himself to flip it again. And Besides, Prince Zuko is loyal, even in his banishment, and Iroh cannot help him if Zuko sends him away.

He notes Zuko’s sparring partners – chests heaving, dripping with sweat shooting Iroh a desperate glance in the face of Zuko’s unending stamina. He knows his nephew considers himself a failure because he is not Azula, yet he never seems to notice his own power.

‘’I think that’s enough for today, Thank you for your assistance crewman.’’ The two hesitate, looking to their captain, waiting to be dismissed. Zuko scowls – in that way he so often seems to these days – and looks as though he might protest, before meeting Iroh’s placid smile he harrumphs.

‘’Dismissed.’’ Zuko barks, as the exhausted crewmen scamper away.

‘’Come Nephew, have some tea with me.’’ He says with a smile.

‘’I don’t have time for tea, Uncle, the Avatar-‘’ Zuko begins, prepared to launch into another speech about regaining his honour.

‘’-Will surely wait till the morning. It will take several days before we reach the next port, won’t you indulge an old man?’’ Zuko frowns again, dropping to the floor in front of him, arms folded staring off the side of the ship with the kind of petulance only a fourteen-year-old can summon.

‘’Would you light the fire, Prince Nephew.’’ Zuko sneered, meeting his eye.

‘’Just because you waste your fire bending on _peasant_ diversion doesn’t mean I’ll lower myself in the same way.’’ Uncle merely chuckles at this as he sets his pot over the little fireplace.

‘’It is easy to produce a wild, uncontrolled flame. But a delicate, precise flame, to maintain a standard temperature without scorching the leaves? That takes a true master.’’

‘’Delicate flame will not help me find the Avatar.’’ His nephew growls, arms still folded, as Iroh directs a small flame to light the fire.

‘’Perhaps not, but you also seek mastery of your bending. What is harder, Prince Zuko, lighting a fire, or extinguishing it?’’ Zuko looks back over the side of the ship, watching the rolling waves.

‘’It’s harder to put out a fire.’’ He says, repeating rote learned information.

‘’Indeed. Fire is life; warmth and protection, yet wielded improperly it can be dangerous.’’ Zuko’s headshot back towards him, his full scowl returning.

‘’You think I don’t know that!’’ Zuko yells, shooting to his feet.

 _Ah Foot in mouth again, Iroh!_ He thinks, wincing a little.

‘’You know it better than anyone,’’ Iroh reassured raising his hands placatingly as he poured a cup for Zuko, and pushes it toward him. He sees Zuko look off towards his room, clearly debating Whether or not to storm off and slam all the doors on the boat. He glances back at Iroh, who smiles softly. After a moment of deliberation, he drops back onto the steel floor.

Zuko reaches for his cup, glaring at the earthenware as though it has personally offended him, curling his hands around it.

Overcoming his fear of fire was one of the most important steps they’d taken. After Zuko’s fever broke, infection clearing from his burn he’d had to relearn how to navigate the world. Once his bandages had been removed, his eye permanently narrowed, and his vision forever impaired they realised Zuko would never see as he once did. The Prince’s partial blindness was a well-kept secret; To Zuko, it is another failure – that one of Sozin’s line, Agni’s representatives on earth could be so marred and broken was inconceivable. Iroh is under no such illusions, is all too aware of the fallibility despite their royal blood, and simply endeavours to remain on Zuko’s left, to protect him from anyone that would manipulate his disability.

But he remembers all too well when Iroh had spooked him, lighting a flame in his blind spot. Remembers Zuko pressing himself into a corner, chest hitching with panic, hands curling into his shoulders, sobbing and begging not to be hurt, as though Iroh would _ever_. It had broken Iroh’s heart all over again.

He had Zuko breathe slowly with him for hours until the panic subsided, and when it did Zuko expected to be _punished_ – punished for his weakness, his failure as a firebender – what descendent of the dragons was afraid of fire? He saw it as a reflection of his lack of honour.

All Iroh could do was hold him, to whisper that he would never – never never hurt him.

He is careful with his flame.

‘’To control a steady flame requires power from the breath; you must always remember firebending comes from the breath, not the muscles. Your tutors in the palace focused on power, not control.’’ Iroh tuts, as he slowly reaches for Zuko’s hands, kindling a flame between them.

‘’Father chose those tutors, and besides Azula-‘’

‘’-Is not you, Prince Zuko. You are very different people, are you not? Is it so impossible you need other direction to thrive? Consider this; The dawn-flower requires moonlight to bloom; it may seem closed amongst the others in the garden but as the sun sets the dawn-flower shows its beauty.’’

Zuko watches him carefully but raises his hands to Iroh’s to nourish the flame between them, that beats in a steady heartbeat as Zuko’s panicked breaths slow, calming after Iroh’s perceived treasonous criticism of his father. Iroh wants to scream from the rooftops that Ozai’s training was cruel, that it crushed Zuko’s confidence, that the rage that fueled his bending was temporary and unsustainable.

But Iroh knows how fervently Zuko believes his father loves him; enough to believe that his disfigurement was mercy next to the death Zuko had earned by refusing to be silent in the face of injustice, as Iroh so often was. Zuko believed his father wanted him back.

Iroh remembers how it felt to have the illusions of his life crumble around him and he does not think he is strong enough to inflict the same pain on Zuko. Not yet, not before he’s ready.

Perhaps it is dangerous, but he can’t bring himself to care.

The flame between them dims, slowly, before dissipating gently. 

‘’Perhaps we should purchase some flowers when we reach port, huh Nephew? These old warships can rather drab, don’t you think?’’

‘’Spend your money how you wish, Uncle,’’ Zuko says quietly, reaching for his tea again Iroh watches as his hands alight with a gentle warmth, and steam begins to rise again from the cup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidenote: my first impulse was to call Zuko's ship the 'Wani' (as I went with in the end) but I couldn't find a canon name for his ship is the 'Wani' just widely accepted fanon? If so who even started that because man that spread.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking a lot about Uncle Iroh recently, partially just because I love Uncle, and I find his story that's not really told (at least in the show, haven't read the comics) and his own redemption arc and how he and his interactions with people, especially these fucking kids fighting a war.
> 
> Will I finish this? Who can say. Maybe!


End file.
